


About a Boy

by EstaJay



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, It's going to be a while before everyone gets to Hogwarts, Misconseptions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, lots of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: Arc 1: Roy Mustang is Harry Potter and he's known that for a while now. Not that it matters though, he doesn't have a lick of magic. But then the Promised Day happened and now he has the one thing that is considered impossible by alchemists everywhere. Then the Elrics somehow got themselves portkeyed to London. Now it's a cross-country expedition to get the brothers back and maybe find Roy a magic teacher. Oh, and the wizards have a Philosopher's Stone. OrIn which Riza Hawkeye isn't paid enough to deal with this.





	1. She took a Boy, he named him Roy

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Fanfiction.net under same name

Colonel Grumman met a kid at a brothel. That was uncommon but not too surprising. Sometimes protection wasn’t used and abortion wasn’t an option. Sometimes there wasn’t any other option. The boy with his distinctly foreign features and green eyes that were almost black, bore a striking resemblance to Madame Christmas.

Madame Christmas claimed she was barren.

It was as if the boy was looking for him specifically. As soon as he entered the bar, a small hand tugged at his coattails.

“Are you Colonel Grumman, sir?” He asked, peering through a messy mop of black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

“Why, yes.” Grumman said, crouching down to the boy’s eye-level. The boy’s clothes were baggy yet modest. He moved with a childish innocence that suggested he wasn’t in the business. Besides, this was Madame Christmas’s bar, she wouldn’t place a child in that situation. “And who might you be?”

The boy ignored his question, instead grabbing his hand and dragging him through the bar. With a slight stumble in his step, Grumman relented. He could have easily dug his heels and brought them both to a halt but this was just a boy, there wasn’t much he could do with him.

The boy led the soldier through the back rooms, passing moaning doors and creaking frames without even batting an eye. He waltzed through the hall with the sort of grace and familiarity a five-year-old would have when pulling an adult into a game of pretend.

His little escort stopped behind one of the doors, indistinguishable from the rest. If his memory served correct, though, this was Madame Christmas’s office. He gently rapped the door.

He was an odd little boy, Grumman noticed. The boy was three at youngest, seven at oldest, yet lacking the overabundance of energy that a child his age was known for. He was obviously familiar with Madame Christmas, so her son possibly. But the colonel had known the woman for years. He had been the one, after all, to smuggle her into Amestris with nothing more than the clothes on her back. No name, past or identity to speak of beyond what she made for herself in the backstreets of Central.

The door cracked open and there was Madame Christmas, dressed in a fur coat and pearls in a style more suited for a much larger woman. Her face was thin over a wiry body with a sour expression that only communicated annoyance. Maybe if her features were softer, her body less forced, she would have been a stunning beauty with emerald eyes and blonde roots peeking from underneath black dye.

“I brought the Colonel.” He said, chest puffed with pride.

Madame Christmas puffed her cigarette in response. “Did you drag him off the street?”

“No.” the boy almost yelled with a slight whine. “He was in the bar.”

“Dragged me straight from the entrance.” Grumman added, earning a look of betrayal from the boy. “Didn’t even have a chance to grab a drink.”

Madame Christmas shot the boy a stern look. “Is that true?” She didn’t wait for an answer, the deflation in the boy’s posture spoke for him. “Such behaviour is rude and inconsiderate. I taught you better than that.”

“Yes Madame Christmas. Sorry Madame Christmas.” The boy said in a monotone drone.

The woman’s gaze softened to something almost motherly. “Just remember your manners next time.” She said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Now run along, I think James might be bothering Lily again.”

With a half-hidden cheeky smile, the boy nodded and left the two adults to whatever Madame Christmas had tasked him. Grumman was no fool. There was no ‘James’ or ‘Lily’ under the woman’s hold. It was the code of the mistress of the house. She had developed it almost immediately after arriving in Amestris and he had yet to crack it.

“What are you waiting for?” Madame Christmas said, opening the door to her office. “Come in.”

They made small talk over some cheap whiskey. Madame Christmas hadn’t been expecting him while Grumman had no idea why she wanted him here. Even so, they were in an office and there was a deal waiting to be made. The topics shifted almost randomly from politics to the weather, the state of business to local gossip and even to owls for some odd reason.

After several glasses, lips began to loosen or at least they pretended they did. Grumman knew the Madame was a prideful woman but she was beyond taking favours. She just had a hard time asking them.

“Pretty energetic kid you’ve got running around.” Grumman finally said, taking a sip from his glass. Money was flowing, business was good and no one had any beef against the woman. It had to be that boy.

Madame Christmas quashed her smoke in an ashtray before downing a mouthful of alcohol. “He gets it from his father, probably. That man was always a trouble maker.”

“A one night stand?” The resemblance was impossible to ignore, the eyes especially. Though behind thick lens they looked a black-brown, he had glimpse the emerald green, almost identical to those opposite him.

“No. Love.” She dropped the jovial fake-drunkenness and stared down into her drink. “Hated each other back in school but as soon as graduation came along…”

Grumman nodded, placing his glass down. A childhood sweetheart…

“…next thing I know, I’m invited to a baby shower.”

Grumman nearly slipped out of his chair. “The boy’s not yours?”

“The boy’s my nephew, my sister’s only child.” Christmas said, slightly amused by his misconception. “She and her husband were…alchemists, or something similar at least. She was being targeted by a terrorist at the time and told me to flee the country.” She reached out for the bottle but snatched her hand back. The wounds were still raw and the woman obviously didn’t want to be sober at the moment. “We had been…fighting for some time. It had seemed so important then but now it’s just petty.”

He offered her the bottle. “Drink?”

“No. This is important. You deserve to know the truth, or at least a shade of it.” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I didn’t heed her first warning, she was my crazy little sister out to break any sense of normality I had. The terrorists and his followers attacked. They killed my fiancé and were planning on using me as leverage against my sister. But even though I hated her, she still cared about me. A…teleportation array, for a lack of better description, was hidden in my house. It activated and…”

“And then you came stumbling across the western border.”

Not for the first time, Grumman cursed his country’s isolated nature. The nations beyond those that bordered Amestris were a complete mystery, nothing was known about them except the vague fact that they existed. Teleportation was something that was so alien, declared impossible, to Amestrian alchemy but to think it were possible elsewhere.

The glasses and alcohol were packed away. This wasn’t a simple social meeting anymore. Best case scenario if this was found out would have the woman and her nephew charged as illegal immigrants. Worst case would spark a war a completely unknown enemy.

“I haven’t heard from her since. That was until her son appeared on my doorstep three years ago over the same ‘array’.” Madame Christmas sat up, straightening her posture. Grumman did likewise. “I need you to forge legal documents. Adoption papers, identification, everything to make it look as if he were a native Amestrian.”

“His appearance though. It would be easy to tell that he was a foreigner.” Grumman pointed out. He didn’t want to play devil’s advocate but they had to be practical. “Yours too. Not to mention your accents. It sounds almost Creatan, enough to get you accused of being a spy.”

“Bah, don’t worry about me.” She dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I know how to keep my head down but the boy will be a trouble maker, I’m sure of it. He has his parents’ spirit and fire.” There a glow in her eyes, a queer combination of hope and nostalgia. Madame Christmas expected the boy to do great things.  

Grumman smirked. Yes, watching that boy grow would be interesting. “I’ll have the papers sorted by the end of this week. You will need to come to my office to sign them, tomorrow or the day after that.” He said. Then something occurred to him, an obvious little fact that he should have noticed earlier. “What is the boy’s name? I can’t leave the space black.”

“Can’t say it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” The woman said firmly. “Part of their ‘alchemy’ can lock onto a person’s name. If it was placed on the boy’s name, simply speaking it would alert those murderers of his location.”

Locating someone by merely saying their name…Grumman repressed a shudder. This foreign alchemy was something to fear.

“But you need names.” Grumman said. “’Madame Christmas’ might work for you but you can’t keep calling him ‘Boy’ his entire life.”

“Sure I can.” Christmas said lightly. “Put me down as ‘Chris T. Mas’, aunt and legal guardian of ‘Boy’.”

The soldier snickered. “How about ‘Christine Mustang’ and ‘Roy’? At least it sounds like your trying.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever floats your boat.” The lightness had returned, genuine and not forced this time. With a gentle almost sly smile, the newly named ‘Christine’ leaned over the desk between them. “Now, for all your troubles, what do you want out of this?”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t play fool with me, Grumman.” The woman said. “You won’t go through all this trouble out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want out of this?”

Grumman hadn’t forgotten. Forgery of such important documents would be enough to get him court martialled.

“Should Roy ever show interest in alchemy, have him seek out Berthold Hawkeye.”

The Madame was sceptical. “What makes you so sure he would want to study alchemy?” ‘Why waste a favour on something baseless?’ was her underlying question.

“Alchemic skill isn’t genetic but quite often the children of alchemists will show interest in the art.” Grumman said. “I’ve had my eye on Hawkeye for several years now. Having an insider will hopefully lessen the animosity between him and the military.” _Between myself and my own family._ Maybe it was a bit underhanded to use a child to bridge the gap between himself and his son-in-law but any connection to his estranged family was better than nothing.

‘Fine but don’t be so certain that he’ll latch onto that magic.”

“Alchemy is science, not magic.”

Grumman had left several hours later, slightly tipsy from another round of drinks but not too intoxicated to not make his way home. Despite the lightness of his head and heart, something weighed on his mind. Madame Christmas’s final warning.

 _“If you see anyone running around in robes armed with sticks, treat them seriously._ Do not _take them lightly and consider them as dangerous as State Alchemists._


	2. She Raised a Boy, her little Roy

They were in the red this month. The current drought caused water expenses to leap. Another rogue alchemist wreaking havoc on the pipes didn’t help the matter. She rubbed her temples, staring down at the reports. With a bank account in overdraft while running at a net loss, the Bar existed only on the goodwill of its most loyal patrons. (Another debt she owed Grumman.)

If it were only to support herself and the boy, she would have closed the Bar down months ago. She had other ways of earning income and being an employee would be less of a headache than being a business owner. 

But there were still the girls to think about. Once she would have shunned their sort, not even batting an eye in their direction. Pathetic street walkers, she would have called them. But they were her girls now, not some misfits or scum. They wormed a place into her heart like the boy, Lily’s boy, had. They were her children in everything but blood and name. There was no way she would toss them back to the past they escaped from.

She tapped her pen, scribbling her signature at the bottom of her reports. 

_ Christine Mustang.  _

Seeing the name down on paper didn’t make it feel any less fake. She had redone many documents because the wrong name, her real name, had been signed. The attack was years behind her. Lily and her husband and her dear Vernon all rotting six feet under, she was raising her nephew on a false persona and identity. It felt so surreal. She was still expecting to wake up and find herself back in her modest home back in England, the life in a country that was stuck in the early twentieth century revealed to be nothing but an odd dream. But she was still here. 

There was a gentle knock at the door. 

“Come in.” She said absently.

The wood creaked slightly as a small pyjama-clad form stood in the doorway, tugging at an oversized red and gold scarf as if it were a lifeline. 

“Roy-boy.” She said. It was her pet name for her nephew. It was for his protection bit it didn’t numb the phantom pain in her chest. Lily had given her son a name, a disgustingly plain yet respectable name, and he would never be known by it. 

“Aunt…Madame Christmas.” The child said, clearly and oddly lucid for this time of night. A nightmare. He may have been barely an infant at the time but his parents were murdered right in front of him. His subconscious still remembered and insisted on haunting him. 

Chris Mustang (because that was who she was now) pushed the reports aside. They could be finished in the morning. 

She picked up the boy, Lily’s boy, her little Roy, cradling him in her arms while he snuggles into her shoulder. She rubbed the small of his back, slowly easing him back to sleep.

Madame Christmas loathed the day the boy considered himself ‘too old’ for physical affection. Words, both verbal and written, were shallow and meaningless to between them. Rarely traded and constantly coded, they were used as a form of deception. They would never be used to show love and comfort.

This was not the life she imagined for herself. This was not the life Lily would have wanted for her son. But they would survive one way or another. 

{~~~}

The years were flying by too fast. 

She had indulged in her identity as Madame Christmas, Chris Mustang, owner of a small bar simply called The Bar that possibly doubled as a brothel. A shrewd woman with connections on both sides of the law and a penchant for taking in strays. Her past was far behind her. It was odd to think back and remember the spite and pettiness that once defined her and how desperately she had tried to fit into the mould society had made. 

The boy had grown astoundingly from the squalling baby draped in red and gold that appeared on her doorstep at the dead of night. That night was seven years ago, celebrated as a commercialised day for the dead in her home country, the night his parents had been murdered, was now listed as his birthday. 

The Bar had been closed for the night in order to celebrate eight years (and three months) of the boy’s life. Her girls had gone all out decorating the place, swathing the plain wooden walls and dull plaster with red and pink streamers and filling the air with oddly-shaped balloons. In all honesty, it looked as if they were celebrating Valentine’s Day rather than a birthday on Halloween but those holidays didn’t exist in Amestris. 

Roy was the centre of attention, of course. The girls fawned over the boy they considered their younger brother and Roy basked in the attention. She had heard that he would grow to be a heartbreaker. He provided each girl with his undivided attention then transition sleekly to another conversation with such grace that no seemed offended when he lost interest in them. Roy wasn’t growing into a heartbreaker, he was growing to be an enemy of women. 

Roy was eight-years-old, a happy and healthy boy and completely normal. This wouldn’t have worried her, shouldn’t have worried her, but Roy was Lily’s son. Growing up, Lily had been far from normal. Their childhood had been littered with strange occurrences, accidental magic it had been identified as when an owl and that damn letter arrived on her sister’s eleventh birthday. 

Roy was eight-years-old and there had been none of the little incidents that made her realise that her sister wasn’t normal. When he was refused sweets before bed, they didn’t appear in his hands. When he didn’t like the colour of his clothes, they didn’t suddenly change colour.  His magical heritage remained dormant, possibly non-existent. Had it been Lily and her husband, they might have been disappointed by such a development but she was glad, relieved even that the freaks that took her sister away wouldn’t be taking her nephew as well. 

(But there was magic in the boy's veins. She couldn't deny it. Suppressed, hindered and hidden away at the moment but it would find an outlet. It was only a matter of time.)

{~~~}

Something was frustrating little Roy and he was doing his damn best to hide it. However, nothing ever passed the eyes of Madame Christmas. 

Despite everyone else who worked and lived at The Bar was female and at least twice his age,  Roy was surprisingly sociable. The boy was a charmer, just like that man who stole away her sister. He had an  innocent face and knew his manners, allowing him to play as a sweet little brother to the girls. With a bright smile and a squeaky please Roy had most of the girls and even some of the regulars wrapped around his finger. This cheery persona made it painfully obvious when something was bothering him or at least to his aunt it did.

When there weren't any serial killers or criminals running amok, Central was as safe as the capital of a  militaristic nation could be. Madame Christmas had allowed the boy outside the four walls of The Bar to run errands as long as he had someone with him. She gave him a couple cenz every outing, expecting him to spend it on some sweets or a small toy. Roy never came back, though, with anything other than what was on the grocery list. His coins remained in a small pouch, slowly building up after each outing.

Roy was saving up for something. He had never told her what but a few quick questions with the girls who had gone out with him led Madame Christmas to a small bookstore on the way to the market. 

Paige had said that the shop had caught the boy's eye during his first market trip while Katrina, Simone and Chloe all reported that he insisted on going to the shop on the way back to The Bar when they had each been supervising him. 

It was a modest store nestled between two apartment buildings. The glass display window featured several large and heavily illustrated children’s books. Maybe that was what Roy was after. Entering the shop, she found it mostly empty besides a woman behind the counter, deeply engrossed in a heavy science volume. There was a fireplace on the wall adjacent to the door surrounded by cushions over a circle rug, suggesting that there were small social gatherings held here. Bookshelves lined the other side of the room, neatly sorted into four shelves: children, fiction, non-fiction and miscellaneous. She didn't set foot beyond the door though, leaving the bookstore as briskly as she came. 

(But she knew what the silver chain hanging from the woman's skirt meant even if there was no uniform. Roy wasn’t after a gaudy story book.)   

After closing The Bar for the night she found Roy in the sitting room, lying on the hearth angrily scribbling into a notebook. He acknowledged her presence with a slight nod before returning to scribbles. There was no need to talk. If the boy wanted something, needed her help, he was free to ask it. She would be waiting for it. 

Settling herself down in a worn armchair, she pulled a ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles from a basket at its foot. She had never been one for knitting, having only learned how to socialise with some other women back in her own country, but nearly caught a cold during winter. The scarf he had arrived with was beginning to wear due to being a constant fixture on the boy's neck. He would need a new one soon and she was sure green would suit him much better than red.

She and her nephew soon fell into a routine. During the day she would be the dismissive yet stern bar owner while he would be the sweet well-mannered angel that tugged at their heartstrings for a coin or sweet. Then before the boy was tucked into bed, the would spend an hour or so by the fireplace. Roy would silently rage at his notebook and attack it with forceful words while she would knit him a new scarf, waiting for him to ask for help. It remained that way for about two months.

One night, Roy gave a strangled groan and kicked his notebook away. She merely raised an eyebrow at the boy. He met her questioning gaze with a squinted look. Roy was at the peak of his frustration yet he still didn't want to tell her a thing. His eyes then shifted to her hands, eyeing  the metre long fabric trailing from her clinking needles. 

“I never noticed it had gotten so long.” He said, the flames reflecting off his glasses. 

“I'm surprised you even noticed at all.” She said, reversing her stitches to start the next line. “I was beginning to think that you would need a stronger prescription.”

Roy huffed, sitting up and puffing his cheeks. “My eyes are perfectly fine.” He said, pulling off his glasses. “In fact, my sight’s getting better. Soon I won't even need these.” He wove them around to illustrate his point, his vanity clearly showing. 

“Whatever you say, Roy-boy.” She said. For all his maturity, the boy still had a child's logic. He still saw the world through an optimistic perspective and she hoped he stayed like that for as long as possible. “You look more handsome without them anyway.”

A blush coloured his cheeks and Madame Christmas chuckled. She wasn't lying though. The hints of a stronger jaw was more obvious without his glasses making his face look rounder. His eyes were more obviously green from under his messy mop, gleaming like her sister's once had. If she had any photos, she would see Roy growing into the spitting image of that man but like this she confirmed that he was Lily’s boy.

The boy inched closer, mystified by the steady growth of the scarf. His former frustrations appeared to be forgotten as he took the fabric and rolled the stitches between his fingers. 

“It looks like one big green mass but if you look closely there are lots of tiny things making it up.” He said slowly. 

She smiled at Roy, tying off the ends and wrapping the solid green scarf over his red and gold one. “It's like that with everything made of fabric. Each little thread playing its part to hold together the much larger piece. Pull one out and it will slowly unravel until nither the larger fabric or the smaller stitches remain.” The boy snuggled into the extra warmth and she ruffled his hair. “Come to think of it, just about everything in the world is like that. The Bar is nothing without the people running it. A meal can't be made without the ingredients. You can't be Roy without your skin, bones and blood.” She nuzzled into his collar making him giggle. Most of what she said probably went straight over his head but then again, philosophical talks weren't for children. 

But Roy had been listening. His eyes widening. “Everything is connected.” He said, fiddling with his new scarf. “Like one long thread knitted into making a scarf. Everything is part of a greater whole but the whole is made of many smaller parts...All is One and One is All!” he declared, jumping up and hugging her by the neck. “Thanks Auntie!”

The boy sped off, grabbing his discarded notebook and disappearing down the hall. At least he wasn't moping anymore.

She couldn't stop the grin forming on her face. Roy was happy, that was all she could ask for. 

(But when Roy came bouncing back from the market with a brown parcel in his hands, Madame Christmas knew it was no storybook. She felt her joy dying away. 

Grumman was right and she would have to keep her end of the bargain.)

{~~~}

Madame Christmas held onto the hope that the boy’s interest in alchemy was nothing but a passing fancy, that he would lose interest in the complex science and move on to something else like art or economics. But Roy was Lily’s son and he was completely and utterly enthralled by alchemy as his mother had been by magic. 

At age eleven, she was not greeted with an owl and letter demanding to take Roy away but rather intricate circles doodled onto the walls. The cracks in the aging plaster had completely disappeared with the only markings being a faint rectangular pattern on the upper end of the wall. It had also whitened several shades, looking newer than it had when she first rented then later bought the building. She almost wished it had been an owl.

The repairs to the wall, no matter how small they were, was a successful transmutation that men twice the boy’s age struggled to achieve. Roy would dedicate his life to the art, that much she was certain of. Books and independent research would only get him so far. He would need a teacher, a master alchemist that would guide him in his endeavour. 

In all honesty, she had been surprised that Roy didn’t mention furthering his alchemic studies until he was fifteen and finished his basic schooling. 

No schools received any government funding besides the military academies. Roy’s school was a community run establishment, existing off volunteer teachers and charity rather than charge outrageous prices like other private schools. She had initially been wary of sending the boy there but it had been her only option besides homeschooling him. A military school was never an option. The class sizes were large, the teachers were sparse and most students were from the lower ends of the social hierarchy yet to her surprise Roy received a good education. Maybe it was because the children were from the dregs of society that they understood the value of the opportunity given to them. Maybe it was because of the teachers’ bleeding hearts and hope for their students to use what they learned to make the most of their lives. Hope and ambition was what drove the school and kept it alive. 

It was hope and ambition that was alight in Roy’s eyes as he waltzed into The Bar, diploma in hand and head held high. He accepted the praises and congratulations from the girls humbly. Being modest didn’t suit the boy, his pride barely contained as he leaned over the counter. His eyes were shone with an almost devilish intent. 

“So finally out of school, Roy-boy.” She said, squaring her shoulders to project the casual intimidation only Madame Christmas could. 

Roy was unfazed, of course. She would have been disappointed otherwise. “Finally indeed.” He said. “I would have been out sooner if the teachers didn’t insist on holding me back. Apparently it would be too much of a blow to my seniors to be graduating  alongside someone three years their junior.”

“Bah! As if you could have handled the workload. You’re a terrible procrastinator if I’ve ever seen one. So what now? Go to university? Help out here in The Bar? Get off that lazy arse of yours and finding an actual job? Or...” She leaned into the counter, meeting his gaze. “...maybe an apprenticeship in alchemy.”    

Roy’s eyes widened, losing his suave mask. “How did…?”

“I tend to notice when the walls are targeted for alchemy practise.” The boy blushed, slightly ashamed. It was amusing that he thought he could hide something that big from her in her own house. “You still have a long way to go.”

From under the counter, she produced several files with a train ticket to the east on top. She had gathered  all the information she could on Berthold Hawkeye since Grumman had mentioned him. A widower and hermit who lived on a hill on the outskirts of a small Eastern town and the subject of many rumours, none of which were appealing. Had she the option, she would keep Roy as far away as possible from the secluded man but a deal was a deal. 

Despite how she presented it, it was not a choice or option. Even non-alchemists were subjected to Equivalent Exchange and this was the price for his safety. 

{~~~}

Contrary to what her preliminary information had told her, Berthold Hawkeye was a decent man or at least he understood the worries of a parent. Every week she would receive a letter from the East, detailing  Roy’s progress. They were brief and barely a page long but it was better than nothing. The boy was growing, improving and going the way of every other teenager by not writing or calling home. 

However, three years after the boy had left, she received her last and most troubling letter from Hawkeye.

_ For all his genius, this boy cannot think for himself. I have revoked his apprenticeship. _

Both direct and vague, that short message was the last she heard from Hawkeye. She wondered what idiocy Roy had committed for his master to take such action. Lack of dedication? Violation of an alchemic taboo? (The delayed reveal of his magic?)

She sighed and pack the short note along with the others in her top desk drawer. The boy would be back any day now, probably moping. She might as well get his room ready for him. 

But the boy didn’t come home. 

{~~~}

The first word Madame Christmas heard from Roy wasn’t from the boy or her girls or even that fool Grumman. Six years after his expulsion she found the boy picture on the front page of the newspaper.

**YOUNGEST STATE ALCHEMIST YET: ROY MUSTANG, THE FLAME ALCHEMIST**

The boy stood tall and proud, dressed in full military uniform complete with the tell-tale chain hanging from his pocket. His hair was much shorter and he wasn’t wearing his glasses but she saw that blasted man in the newspaper. First her sister and now the boy. They claimed that alchemy wasn’t magic but she knew better. Only magic would take what little she had left. 

{~~~} 

When whispers of the Eastern Rebellion spread, she knew it that the boy would be home soon. A full out war was brewing, not the ‘small skirmishes’ that the media supplied. The military would take this as an opportunity to test out their newest toy. The boy would be coming back in a body bag. 

As the war progressed, more and more of her girls were excused due to a somber soldier in military blue with a single letter. A father was dead. An uncle was dead. A brother was dead. A cousin was dead. They served their nation valiantly and died with honour. They were noble and courageous. 

Courage was for fools and fools died. 

_ Your parents are dead. Your fiance is dead.  Your sister is dead.  _

She waited for the letter. It came but not by a soldier. Once again it was the front page headliner. 

**THE HERO OF THE ISHVAL CIVIL WAR: THE FLAME ALCHEMIST**

She didn’t bother reading the paper. One look at the photograph and the paper was tossed into the fire. 

_ The boy is dead.  _

{~~~} 

It was Wednesday night and The Bar was mostly empty. It wasn’t bad business, the middle of the week was always dead. Very few people went out knowing that they would still have to get up early the next morning. 

Her girls were lounging around, some drinking while other playing cards to pass the time. Madame Christmas could have easily found them something to do but there wasn’t really a point. She wasn’t in the mood, hadn’t been in the mood for years. 

One of the girls remained perky. Humming as she swept around the counter for the upteenth time. She was one of the greener ones, having only worked in the business for a couple of months. There had been trouble at her home and no one was ever turned away. It was likely that she wouldn’t be in the business for much longer either. The girl had herself a man. He was a good one, despite being military. An overly optimistic shutterbug that was sure to be an annoyance to any of his friends and co-workers. It was a wonder why a man like that would work in the military, how he had survived being in the military.

It was young love at its sweetest and sickest and from the way she had seen the pair circle each other, it would be an affection that wouldn’t be dimmed by marriage. 

The door slammed open, startling most of the girls out of their half-hazed state and nearly knocking the bell right off its perch. 

“Oh Gracia!”

The girl dropped the broom and her face broke into an impossibly wide grin. “Maes!”   

They meet halfway in a tight embrace, trading chaste kisses and sappy words and acting as if they had been separated for years. (But the soldier-boy had dropped in the morning then at lunch and was here only an hour before.)

A lone figure stood by the door, awkwardly watching the young couple. The soldier-boy’s ‘best friend’, if she remembered correctly. A bloody alchemist. 

The soldier-boy unglued himself from the girl for a brief moment to urge his friend inside. 

“Come on!” He insisted. She pitied the friend, stuck with such an endless ball of energy. “It’s warm, there’s pretty girls and good beer and Gracia works here!” 

“That’s a bad idea Hughes.” Wait… “I don’t think-”

“Roy-boy?”

The entire bar fell into silence as the friend stepped out of the shadows. The girls Roy had grown up with had long since moved on with their lives but these girls and the soldier-boy knew the stories of the little boy who used to live at The Bar. The boy who left one day and never came back. 

Roy was so much taller now, filling out the awkward frame that the girls had teased him for in his teenage years. His posture was terrible, hunched back and slouching, and his chin was covered in a unruly stubble. Those dark green eyes, once filled with life, were hollow and void. The boy should only be in his mid-twenties but he looked a decade older. But it was still the boy, under all the scars and lifelessness. He avoided eye contact, looking not at her but straight pass her, and his shoulders were high and tense. He knew he was in trouble. 

“Come here.” A simple command that left no question. 

He came forward, not the awkward shuffling of his childhood but a proper soldier’s march. She came out from behind the counter and he stood before her, eyes still glued to the back wall. 

“Au-...Madame Christmas I-”

She wrapped him in a hug, smothering his words into her shoulder and rubbing the small of his back. Words were useless between them and but he flinched at the contact, not falling into the embrace like he once did. The wounds were still too raw and too deep. 

So she hugged the boy tighter. She could be mad at him. She could rage and scream and ban him permanently from The Bar. She would have every right to. But this was Lily’s boy, her boy, her Roy-boy. 

Her boy fell apart, breaking down into a mess sob. His breathing heaved and became jagged. Tears and snot streamed from his face and seeped into her coat. Her Roy wasn’t a crier, not even as a baby, but even the strongest man had his moments of weakness. She smoothed out his hiccups with gentle pats to the back while letting her own tears fall. 

They let their pieces fall but it was okay. 

It was okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The perspective splits from here. Do you want to see how the alchemists react to the wizarding world or what the wizards think of what the 'Boy-Who-Lived' had grown into? Vote here https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4207859/CrystalCard


	3. I’m not a Boy, my name is Roy

Travelling had never been something he'd like. Roy was used being in one place and staying there, everywhere he needed to go only a short walk or drive from what he had designated ‘home’. He hated trains especially. The rumbling vehicles that took him away from his childhood home, from his master's house, from his naive ideals and misplaced patriotism. It  gave him an odd respect for Fullmetal who spent most of his cross-country goose chase on trains rather than off them.

He could never fall asleep on them and the constant teeter left him slightly nauseous and even disoriented at times. Sometimes he would read to pass the time or talk with any travelling companions, if any, but mostly he would gaze out the window and watch the world slip by. Sadly, none of those were an option.

The carriage was near empty, or at least it sounded so. Roy was travelling alone, having slipped away amidst the aftermath of the Promised Day. Truth’s toll had robbed him of his sight, leaving him in a world of darkness. He should count himself lucky, though. Truth took his sight but not his eyes. That left him with a better chance of recovery.

(He could have been able to see again, if he had taken the offer. But in all honesty, would he have really? Could he have let Marcoh use a Philosopher’s Stone to restore his sight when it had been made of the people he massacred? When one of his own men remained lame at his own fault?)

Roy was in the darkness, in a rumbling and shaking world, alone. (As it should, after all.)

“You mind if I sit here?”

Roy smiled in the approximate direction of the voice. “Not at all Miss-” But he faltered and his lips drooped. He knew that voice. “Haw-”

“Elizabeth Berthold.” She said. “And who might you be?”

“Leroy Dudley.” He responded in kind. “Please, sit. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Elizabeth Berthold, or rather Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, joined him on the thinly cushioned bench.

They had both been raised in a life of codes and false words, the daughter of an alchemist and the nephew of an infobroker. Even the aliases they had exchanged sent a clearer message than a string of dialogue. ‘Elizabeth Berthold’ was a combination of what Roy had once thought ‘Riza’ was short for, which it was not, and her father’s name. She was mad at him for leaving suddenly and would be filling him full of lead in any other situation, a cold fury like her late father’s temperament. However, she was more angry about him leaving her behind and would continue to follow him, whether he explained his actions or not. ‘Elizabeth Berthold’ was a confirmation laced with a question, ‘Leroy Dudley’ was a response and explanation. ‘Dudley’ was a name his aunt was rather fond of, what she would have named her own child and what she had nearly placed as his middle name. When Madame Christmas had been ousted as the colonel’s informat, she and some of her girls fled west to Table City. Table City also being the final destination of this train. ‘Leroy’ was an altered combination of Roy’s name and his birth mother’s. Riza was the only person  besides Madame Christmas who knew the full truth behind his heritage. Maes had known, but then again, dead men knew nothing.

(Both Roy and Madame Christmas had been so sure that his parents’...ability had skipped his generation. Signs of the ability would appear during childhood and was considered non-existent if nothing happened before one’s eleventh birthday. His eleventh birthday came and went without any oddities.

But the damage Wrath had done to his hands, piercing straight through his palms. He should not have been able to curl his fingers, let alone perform alchemy. Roy had been consumed by the heat of the moment so he hadn’t noticed his injuries, or rather lack of them. Wounds like that don’t just disappear and leave no scars behind, not without equivalence. Unless, though, magic was involved.)

{~~~}

A shout of “Boy!” was the only warning Roy had before he was glomped from behind. Normally he wouldn’t be fazed. He knew exactly who had grabbed him, only Madame Christmas and his older ‘sisters’ ever called him just Boy, but between the waves of voices and bumping bodies that filled the darkness it was so easy to forget.

Mindless chatter devolved into screams and shouts of commands. There was a burning smell, smoke from coal he had tried telling himself. It was coal. It was coal. It was  _ corpse _ . Someone had grabbed him from behind. Assassin? Yes, definitely. It had to be. An inexperienced one though, they didn’t aim for the gloves. He still had his gloves. Roy’s fingers posed to snap-

Someone grabbed his hand before he could complete the motion.

_ Shi- _

“Who might you be?” Riza’s voice was enough to dispel whatever scenario his mind had conjured. “It’s not exactly safe, jumping people from behind. Someone could easily draw the wrong conclusion in this  _ crowded train station.”  _ Her emphasis on last few words were for him.  _ Sir, this is not Ishval.  _ He could practically hear her say.  _ There are no orders to kill. _

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s always like this.” Roy said as nonchalantly as he could manage. He felt shame bubble in his stomach. He had nearly fried one of his sisters because of an ill-timed lapse. What would have happened if Riza hadn’t been there, he didn’t want to think about. “Elizabeth, this is my older sister Paige. Paige this is-”

“Oh, no need for introduction Boy!” She said. Her cheery tone pushed heat into his cheeks, reminding him how common ‘Elizabeth’ was in his personal code. It was common enough to convince most the girls that Elizabeth was a real person. Why didn’t he put more thought into choosing code names? “I know all about Elizabeth, your little sweetheart from Central. Boy here doesn’t send a single letter home without him mentioning his dear Elizabeth.”

“I’m surprised he talked so much about me.” Riza said, taking the remark in stride. So much for pretending she was a kindly stranger helping a blind man. “He’s always so private about his family life.” There was too much mirth in both their voices for his liking.

“What?!” Paige said with an overdramatic screech. She grabbed him by the shoulders. “You haven’t told your dearest about your sisters?! Oh Boy, oh boy, what happened to the sweet child we raised? Is my little brother ashamed of me, of us all?!”

Roy could practically feel the attention they were drawing. Paige’s love for dramatics had stemmed from her years in theatre, before her time with Madame Christmas. He had found it amusing as a child but now he couldn’t help but groan.

“It never really came up.” Roy said, gently pushing Paige forward, hopefully towards the exit and not towards the tracks. “Now don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“Oh yes! We can’t keep Auntie waiting!” And with that she grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. “I bet she’d love to meet Elizabeth!”

The crowd parted for them, the sound of people shuffling to the side was enough of an indication. Roy was careful to keep himself sure footed and head trained forward. Paige hadn’t noticed how unfocused his eyes had been or at least, hadn’t voiced it. Hopefully no one here would discover Truth’s toll.

Behind him, Roy could swear he heard Riza chuckling.

{~~~}

“Boy!”

And almost immediately following the cry, Roy found himself tackled to the ground of the safe house. Judging by the pressure there were at least three bodies on top of him, all his sisters. He was careful to keep his arms by his side to make sure he wouldn’t accidently grab anything inappropriate.The girls wouldn’t mind but they would tease him relentlessly afterwards. That was something he would prefer Riza didn’t see.

“Okay girls, that’s enough.” Paige’s voice called, somehow sounding clear beneath the smothering arms with a sense of authority that didn’t hint she had done the exact same thing earlier.  

Roy was better prepared for the contact this time around, mentally reassuring himself that the coming physical contact wasn’t hostile. Just in case, though, Riza took his ignition gloves to prevent any instinctual snapping. It didn’t leave him completely defenceless, Roy still had ‘clap alchemy’. While he was yet to master it, he could still use it effectively. The additional movement also gave him the time to think his actions through.

Reluctantly, his sisters piled off him with Riza helping him back onto his feet. Roy counted the grumbling voices. One bubbly yet steady, not too fussed about having to release him. Another that was deeper and mumbling under her breath. The final one giggling with a tone that warned him that he might be tackled again.

“Simone, Katrina, Chloe. It’s been too long.” And in all honesty it had. These were the sisters that helped raised him, all a good ten to fifteen years older than him. Roy knew that they had moved on with their lives, searching for bigger and better things beyond The Bar just as he had.  

“Too long? You could barely reach my shoulders the last time I saw you.” Chloe said, giving his hair a good ruffle. He could feel her leaning on him just to reach his head, probably on the balls of her feet. “I used to give you piggyback rides! Now it looks like it’s the other way around.”

“Behave Chloe.” Katrina said, the slight ‘eep!’ from the other girl implying she had been pulled back. “He could have been feeding pigs for the past several years for all we know.”

“Technically, I’ve been playing lap dog.” Roy said with a slight laugh.

Simone didn’t say anything. Instead he heard two pairs of footsteps slinking away, almost missing it over Chloe and Katrina’s banter. Simone and Paige were the oldest, the most observant. They could have noticed his new-found disability, seen how clouded and unfocused his eyes had been.

Katrina led him and Riza around the building while Chloe ran off to find Madame Christmas. Roy kept his steps even and measured, counting between each of Katrina’s announcements. Luckily, the safe house only had one floor so there were no stairs to worry about.

“And this’ll be your room.” His sister stopped at a door farthest from the entrance yet was just around the corner from Madame Christmas’s room. “Elizabeth can have the next room over. Remember, Boy, a woman is entitled to her privacy. Respect that or you’ll be bunking with one of us.”

“Katrina!” Roy yelped, his cheeks heating up. If there was one thing he missed, it was definitely the teasing.

She slapped him on the back and laughed, leading Riza into her room to help her unpack. Roy sighed and began feeling around for the door handle, latching onto it and entering the room. A slight breeze hit his face, meaning that a window had been left open. Given the wind was blowing directly on him, it was probably on the opposite wall. He expected the room to be empty, it was supposed to be a guest bedroom after all, but then he stumbled over something, causing Roy to lose balance and fall into something else. His suitcase flew out of his hands, landing on the ground with a slight pop that told him that it had burst open. Great, now he had a mess of clothes to clean up.

Roy pulled himself up, using whatever he fell on as a leverage. It was long, thin and had several ‘arms’ branching out from one end...a coat rack. He started grouping at the item to confirm that yes, it was a coat rack. Similar to the one he had in his childhood bedroom but not exactly the same. What was on the rack, however, was a little too familiar for comfort. The tattered fabric over a circular object could only be the old fedora one of the partons had gifted to him. It had been too big for a little Roy back then but he had grew into it during his teenage years. By now, it should be too small for his head yet it fit perfectly, covering his dark hair and foreign features. The others items he identified easily. Two worn pieces of knitted cloth that had to be his childhood scarves, one knitted by Madame Christmas while the other was one of the few things left to him by his birth parents. Like that hat, they should have been too short for him to wear but he was able to wrap both comfortably around his neck.

The feeling of warmth and nostalgia and home was overwhelming.

Roy scrambled across the floor, looking for other remnants of his childhood with no care for the scattered clothes or how undignified he appeared. He found the blanket Aunt Chris had found him in, the plush animal that he couldn’t even identify even when he had his sight and the alchemy book. The handwritten text by Nicolas Flamel himself that had introduced him to alchemy. The book he had argued with an old storekeeper to have her sell it to him and the riddle he had to solve in order to win it.

All is one and one is all.

_ I am a small part of the world but the world is a part of me. _

Years of military training and service couldn’t stop Roy from crumbling into a ball, his childhood treasures at his chest. He had been so blind. He was literally blind. The full realisation of his disability, of Truth’s toll, slammed into him.  

Roy could not see.

“Roy-bo-...oh bloody hell.”

Roy couldn’t see but Madame Christmas could. She found her nephew in the room filled with the few things of his she had saved from Central. She found her boy truly looking like a little boy, curled into himself with all the fabric in the room, from his clothes to the bedsheets to even the curtains, wrapped around him like a barrier. Like a giant cloth creature giving him a hug. The rest of the room looked like a whirlwind had swept through with even the heavier objects, such as the desk and cabinet, displaced.

This was the freakishness...the magic that had been present throughout Lily’s childhood yet completely absent from Roy’s. Now,it had chosen to reveal itself.

{~~~}

Roy woke up to the feeling of the sun of his face but, of course, he opened his eyes to complete darkness. He took in a deep breath and slowly counted to ten. There was no need to panic, this was what the rest of his life was going to be. 

Slowly, the blurred memories from the previous evening came to his mind. The trip to Table City and the impromptu meeting with Riza, his mental lapse at the train station, and…

Roy was lying on something soft, tucked in with his sheets snuggly like he had when he was a child. Someone must have put him into bed after his…lapse of control. One of his sisters or, most likely, Madame Christmas. Well, at least now he didn’t have to worry how to approach the topic of magic. 

Magic. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Roy was a military officer, an alchemist and a man of science. Such a concept was childish and unrealistic, beyond the scope of truth. How ironic, then, was its role in his past. He remembered openly laughing at his aunt when she revealed what his parents had been. It had been so soon after Ishval that everything barely felt real, like an eternal foggy dream.   

His parents had both been wizards, practitioners of magic, meeting at a magic school and getting murder by a magical racist terrorist. It had taken Roy several moments and stern glares from Madame Christmas to realise that this was the truth and not some weird joke. 

Slowly pulling himself into a seating position, Roy couldn’t help but marvel at how painless he felt. The Promised Day was barely a week past and the injuries he had sustained would have had him aching for months, maybe even years, yet Roy felt more energised than he had felt in years. Even the years-old pains from Ishval were gone. 

“Good morning young man.”

Roy snapped into alertness, jumping out of bed on the opposite side the voice had come from. The array for atmospheric combustion spun in his mind, loaded and ready for him to fire with a clap of his hands. Instead of combusting the man like his instincts told him, Roy demanded, “Who are you?!”

The intruder chuckled, voice deep and elderly like General Grumman and most likely a dangerous as the man. “At ease, my boy. Sit down.” There was the scrapping of a chair, probably pulled from the desk next to the bed if the room was composed like Roy’s old one, as the man helped himself to his own seat. “I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a friend of your parents. I can’t help but notice that you are the mirror image of James, if not for Lily’s eyes. You’ve grown into quite the striking young man Harry.”

“Don’t call me that.” Roy said, his stance remaining tense and mind whirling. James, Lily, Harry. The man knew those names but that didn’t mean that Roy trusted his claims to be a ‘friend’. He was either telling the truth or was a well researched assassin. “And how did you get in here? Did my aunt let you in?”

“Reluctantly so but yes.” That caused Roy to relax slightly. If Madame Christmas trusted this man, or at least deemed him enough for her boy to handle in a pre-caffeinated state, then he could give this ‘Dumbledore’ a measure of doubt. “We have been searching for you for over thirty years. When we heard that your home had been attacked, we rushed to the scene as quickly as possible. Three bodies were found inside and we thought all was lost. Two were your parents but the third was too large to be a child’s, to have been your corpse. Then traces of a portkey were found. Though Voldemort had  killed your parents there was hope that you were still alive-”

“Portkey? Voldemort?” Roy knew vaguely what those were but feigning ignorance was his best option at the moment. Dumbledore wanted to win him over, if his overly familiar actions were anything to go by, and ignorance coupled with stubbornness would be enough to see if this man was trustworthy without being manipulated. “My parents died in a car crash, no magic or wizards involved. How old do you think I am?”    

There was a subtle yet sharp breath. “Who told you that, Harry?”

“My aunt.” But in actuality, Madame Chirstmas had told him nothing about his parents’ death when he had asked as a child. So instead, Roy had created many outlandish tales about how his parents died and how he ended up in a brothel whenever someone asked. The car crash story was the one he used whenever he wanted to swindle a couple cenz and sweets from pitying strangers. “And stop calling me Harry. I’ve never used that name and never plan to. My name is Roy.”

“And who gave you that name?” Dumbledore asked almost too sweetly instead of accepting the information and moving on like Roy expected.

“One of my aunt’s sponsors, he said something about boy not being a proper name.” Roy said it in a joking manner, a smile creeping across his face as he remembered all the silly banter between Madame Christmas and the then Colonel Grumman over his given name. He expected for Dumbledore to add his own quip but the man remained silent. 

“...I believe that it’s best that you take this.” The man said finally.

Roy did his best not to grab blindly at whatever Dumbledore was offering him and took the object, an envelope of course material, probably parchment. He fiddled with the opening, a real wax seal with some sort of crest imprinted on it.

“Did your aunt ever discourage any certain behaviours?”

That caused red to slowly bleed into the darkness of Roy’s vision. He knew that tone all too well from the self-righteous overly pitying patrons to the nosey social workers who tried to rip him out of his aunt’s custody. How  _ dare  _ this man waltz into his room and accuse his aunt, who forgave him for breaking her heart and welcomed him back home despite all the blood on his hands, of abusing him of all things. “No. In fact, she encouraged it.” Roy straightened his posture and once again pictured the arrays in his mind. “I do believe I haven’t introduced myself properly. I am Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist of the Amerstian Military. And you, Mr Dumbledore have overstayed your welcome. Unless you wish to return to your Hogwash school in an  _ urn,  _ I suggest you leave  _ now.” _

“Harry I-”

Roy brought his hands together with a clap and snapped at the man’s approximate location, sending a stream of flames at the wizard. There was a hollow pop and the fire scorched the back wall, its target having apparently vanished. 

Roy sighed and slumped onto his bed. He may have lost his only lead and solid source on magic but no amount of knowledge was worth compromising Aunt Petunia’s honour.    

{~~~}

**END OF PROLOGUE **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done!
> 
> This was not supposed to come out this late but thank you for all your patience. I jumped perspectives from Moody to Dumbledore before settling on Roy and the last scene...from a battle of wills in the living room with Riza, Madame Christmas and the Order of the Phoenix to a generally civil meeting at a cafe to a hostile encounter in an alley...at least it's done! 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who voted on the poll, it gave a good idea perspective wise on what you wanted to read. I’ve seen stories that focus just on one side and others that jump between the two so I was curious to see what everyone preferred.
> 
> Shipping wise, I have no idea. Romance isn’t my forte so any pairings will be dependant on the established canon and how I interpret the characters and will most likely be accidental.
> 
> Also, since I’ve been playing through Pokemon White, I’ve been thinking...truth or ideals? What would you prefer? There’ll be another poll up on this.   
> https://www.fanfiction.net/~crystalcard


	4. The Scarf in the Suitcase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arc 1:
> 
> Roy Mustang and the International Diplomacy Incident
> 
> Or
> 
> In which there is a lot of travelling and misconceptions

Ed was seated at his brother's bedside, silently counting his fingers. Al was asleep, as he often was most of the day. His body's time at the Gate had left it severely malnourished, barely alive and extremely weak. Being bound to a suit of armor hadn't helped much either. While doing so had kept his soul alive, it had left him starved of the basic physical sensations. There was going to be more rehabilitation beyond just putting meat back into his bones.

Once Al up was up to scratch again, healthy and full of life as it should be instead of a living corpse, Ed would resign from the military. The withdrawal forms were ready to be submitted and have been since he joined. Getting Al's body back was the only reason he joined and now with that accomplished, along with stopping the nation from being turned into a giant Philosopher's Stone and getting his arm back as a bonus, Ed saw no reason for staying, especially since he couldn't perform alchemy anymore. A state alchemist who couldn't do alchemy was a bigger joke than a child in the military. If he didn't resign, Ed was probably going to get booted out.

The only reason he hadn't turned them in already was because Mustang was still who-knows-where and he needed his commanding officer to sign off the paperwork. No one had seen a hint of the bastard since the Promised Day and he would have been declared dead, or at least missing, if Grumman hadn't assured them that he was off on 'personal business'. No one was given anymore information beyond that and given that Lieutenant Hawkeye was also missing, the two of the would be coming back soon and most likely in one piece.

When all the paperwork was filed and he was officially back to being plain old Ed again, he was Al were probably going to head back to Resembool and then they were going to-

Going to do what?

Ed turned back to Al's hand, gently rubbing his bones through a thin layer of skin and flesh. So frail and brittle but he could feel the warmth in his brother's veins. Warmth and blood and life and all the things his little brother deserved after all the shit he had put them through the past several years.

Al stirred, his body stiffening from its relaxed state as his eyes flickered open.

"Hey brother." he said, his voice dry and soft but finally free of that metallic clang. It was deeper too, his body somehow over going puberty while at the Gate.

"Morning Al." Ed replied, slowly helping his brother into a seated position. The hospital gown, hung loosely on his body, showing off knobby joints and pale skin. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive and very tired, not that I need anymore sleep." Al stretched, pulling his arms above his head and cracking a couple bones to wave off the stiffness. "Who knew bodies needed so much maintainance?"

"Bet I do, considering I've been keeping two alive for a while now. Maybe I'll gain a few more inches, considering your body's not leeching off of mine anymore."

"I don't know brother. I might need some extra nutrients from you for some body mass. Your inches will have to wait."

"Oi, get them from elsewhere!"

They paused for a moment and then laughed. Life was good now. The future could worry about itself. Right now it was just two brothers enjoying a long awaited relief.

Ed started flipping through the clipboard at the end of Al's bed. "From the looks of it, the docs say that you should be good to eat solids now."

His brother immediately perked up. "Really? Finally an end to soup and grey gelatine!" Al gazed off into nothing, completely overtaken with the thought of real food. "I really missed Granny's stew and I have to try Miss Gracia's pie and Winry's too. Maybe at the same time! And also…" He turned to Ed with a pleading look. "Do you think we could get Ling to bring over some Xingese specialties?"

"No way! That bastard would probably gulp it all down before he's even left Xing. Besides...wouldn't you want to ask May instead?"

"Brother!" Al cried, cheeks heating to a deep red blush which made a stark contrast to his pasty pale skin. Topped with the gold from his eyes and shaggy hair, it made him look almost like a circus clown. Ed couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's expense.

Al huffed. "Well then, what about you and Winry? Should I expect to be an uncle any time soon?"

Ed's cheeks reddened in response and their roles were switched. His brother was laughing now, unbridled to the point that it almost devolved into a coughing fit.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. This was supposed to be about food, not girls." Ed mumbled.

Al slowly quieted down, a few hiccups remaining. "You still have my list brother?"

Ed nodded, bringing his suitcase from under his chair to his lap. "You wrote down a hell lot while we were travelling. We might need to go around the country again to tick everything off."

"The Elric Brothers, from searching for the Philosopher's Stone to hunting the best dishes in Amestris!" Al declared, striking a pose like Major Armstrong.

And they were both laughing again, just two boys horsing around like anyone else their age.

Ed clicked his suitcase open except, it wasn't his suitcase. It looked identical on the outside, yes, but on the inside…

"Brother, please don't tell me you lost my list."

"I think I lost out entire suitcase, Al." Ed said, pulling out the first of the many wierd things inside the case. It was a fancy looking stick. He twisted around in his hands, examining the intricate carvings along its surface.

"Let me see." Al grabbed the edge of the suitcase, turning it towards him to have a look.

He pulled out a long cloth and kept pulling and pulling until he had a ratty three metre scarf draped over him and his brother.

"Who the fuck owns this thing?! A stage magician?"

"Language, Ed." Al said automatically, but his attention was wandering elsewhere. "There's something written on it."

Ed pocketed the stick and looked where Al was pointing. A strangling golden thread among the grey fabric squiggled to look like words.

"Is it Aerugean?"

Ed read over the scrawl again. "No. I think it's Cretan." For once, he was glad for the military requiring him to learn all the languages of the surrounding nations. It was a pain considering Drachman used a different alphabet and Cretan was no rules all exceptions but at least it was paying off.

He grabbed his end of the scarf and began slowly reading the text. "Ok, I think this guy was completely fucked in the head."

"Brother!"

"It's true! Listen:

'Yarn so far make me near,

Yarn of home make me clear

The sea, the gate and hidden wall,

And send me there with little fall!'

What sort of-"

There was a hollow pop, a barely noticeable shift, and a blink later, Ed was no longer in the hospital but in an alleyway. He pulled the stupid scarf off and frantically scanned the area.

"Where…? Al? Al!"

"Over here!" Came a muffled cry.

Ed turned and there was his brother, still in his hospital gown and wrapped in the other end of the scarf.

"Al!" He rushed over, pulling Al to his feet. Were his legs really that skinny? Shit, how could he stand? How was he going to walk?

"Brother, where are we?"

"No clue." He draped his brown jacket over him. Of all the days to leave his red coat behind; it would have been much warmer. Ed also wrapped the scarf, the damn thing that got them into this mess, around Al's neck. He couldn't risk Al getting sick at a time like this.

"Up you go." Ed said, heaving his brother onto his back. Al was feather-light, most the weight coming the clothes he was wearing rather than his actual body mass.

"Hey! I can-"

"Just humor me for now, Al, until we find out where we are."

Al sighed. "Fine, just for now."

Out the corner of his eye, he spied the suitcase lying innocently a metre away. Ed wanted to punt it off into oblivion but there had been some useful stuff in it. Some spare clothes, toiletries and even a bit of cash and valuables that could be pawned. Grudgingly, he picked up the suitcase. It was too valuable to leave behind, for now.

Heading out of the alley, Ed found himself on the main street. It was obvious now they weren't in Central, or anywhere else in Amestris. The sidewalk was flooded with people, all going one way or another without any regard for the world around them. Tall rectangular buildings, taller than anything in Central, rose to the sky and lined the streets leaving only a blue path of sky visible over the road. Speaking of the road, the cars that zoomed across it were like nothing he had ever seen. Bigger and sleeker and running at speeds that would crush anyone who happened to wander across the road...if this was what civilians had access to, who knew what they're military had.

Ed shuddered at the thought. "C'mon Al, let's get some less crowded."

But already, his brother had drifted off to sleep.

Carefully, Ed made his way through the crowd in search of some sort of information centre. Experience taught him that people didn't take kindly to being stopped by a random teenager on a street. It was better to ask someone who was paid to do that sort of shit.

He did his best to keep Al concealed under his jacket by hunching over, trying to make it look like he was carrying a backpack or something rather than a malnourished person. The less questions asked the better.

The streets were starting to thin and the sun was lowering in the sky. It was getting late and they still hadn't found anything. Ed's stomach growled. Maybe they should stop at the next diner they passed. Hopefully the money in the wacko's suitcase would be accepted in wherever-the-hell-they-were.

" _Hey kid!"_

Ed froze. Were they calling out to him?

" _Yeah! You there!"_

He turned and there was a lady wearing too little clothing for this chilling weather. She stopped in front of him, panting slightly and brown ponytail still swinging from the momentum.

" _Yo kid, I saw you walking all hunched and glum and- Oh shit! Is that a person?"_

Ed strained his ears, trying to keep up with the woman's babble. She definitely wasn't speaking Amestrian (thank Truth he hadn't tried stopping anyone on the street), and her words were laced with a strange accent he'd never heard before.

" _Are you speaking this...language?"_ he said slowly in Cretan.

" _Yes and wow! What's with that accent? You're not from around here are you? Are you lost? Did you get separated from your parents?"_

Ed heard the word _lost_ and began nodded slightly, trying his best not to disrupt Al.

" _Poor things! Leave it up to good old Jo to find your folks!"_

The lady grabbed his spare hand and began dragging them off the direction she came from. Ed showed no resistance, only making sure that the jolting wouldn't make him drop Al.

Best case scenario, this lady would get them back to Amestris.

Worst (most likely) case scenario...he still had a good automail leg to kick with.

{~~~}

Roy felt stupid.

He squinted his eyes in focus as he started into the black void of his vision. In front of him there was a coffee table with a single piece of paper on it, or according to Riza there was. For all he knew, Chloe was right and there was a stuffed bear on a unicycle in front of him.

"Float, float, float." he muttered under his breath, trying to 'magic' the piece of paper into the air.

Madame Christmas had given him a good dressing down for trying to barbecue the Alvin Dumb-Door guy. Apparently, all of his birth parents' acquaintances didn't have the best opinion of his aunt and he wasn't allowed to fry them all just for trying to help. Roy knew that he had acted irrationally then but what else was to be expected of him first thing in the morning before coffee. Now he was definitely regretting it. He doubted that he would be able to find another person who knew a lick about magic within the country.

" _Oh pasty white surface, fresh and free from ink's touch."_ Roy sang, yes sang, in English. Magic in stories was always in prose in a foreign language, so maybe this would work. _"I command thee to, hover, hover, hover and take flight into the air!"_

Nothing. Not even a flutter.

"Trying to serenade the table, Boy?" Katrina said from somewhere behind him. "Are you that desperate for a date?"

"Shut up. I'm doing magic."

"Oh?" She plopped her hands on top of his head. "I thought it was alchemy."

"No, it's magic!" He said, swatting her away.

"Fine. Fine. But if you make it rain indoors again, I'm not covering for you."

Katrina laughed, her fading footsteps signalling her departure.

Roy sighed. He really shouldn't have chased that wizard off. And for what? Using a tone he didn't like? That was childish even by Fullmetal's standard.

This magic shouldn't have been a problem. He had lived thirty years without it, so why would he need it now? But there was this buzzing under his skin, ever since the Promised Day. A stream of energy just waiting to be released like an array just before it's activated. Roy knew the dangers of delaying an array for too long. Even if the equations were balanced, leaving a transmutation circle just on the brink of activation was just asking for a rebound. And one waiting to be used for over thirty years? He was practically a ticking time bomb.

Roy needed to go to England, or any other country with a decent magic community. He needed to find a master to apprentice under to get his magic under control or get rid of it completely. But that would throw a bigger wrench in his ambitions than Rockbell's at Fullmetal's head. He couldn't just disappear for five so years then come back expecting to become fuhrer. Politics didn't work like that.

Alchemy or magic.

The ideals of his future or the truth of his past.

He had to choose one.

The phone started to ring, luckily it was just on the side table next to him.

"Hello?"

" _Finally! One of these damn numbers work. Of course it was the last one. It's always the last one."_

"Fullmetal?" Roy could practically sense the headache coming. "Which town did you blow up this time?"

" _Hello to you too, bastard. Enjoying your vacation in the middle of nowhere?"_

"What happened?" The sooner he got the paperwork filed, the sooner he could bail the brat out of whatever local jail he was being held at.

" _Well...me and Al kinda got teleported to somewhere in Creta, or where people speak Cretan...wait, what was that? Thanks, Al. We're in Ronron? No, London. That sounds right. London, Iggy-land."_

Something crashed.

"Madame Christmas! Boy crashed the table into the ceiling! Again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English and Cretan are basically the same language in this 'verse but Creta is not England.
> 
> Roy had a lot of mishaps while learning alchemy that his sisters had to cover up but they have a lot of blackmail material


	5. Speculations on both ends

_ Speculation on both ends _

The Elrics were in London.

The  _ Elrics  _ were in  _ London.  _

_ The Elrics were in London. _

HOW IN TRUTH’S BASTARD EXISTENCE DID THE ELRIC’S GET IN LONDON?!   
“Sir, I suggest you calm down…” 

A burst. A crash. 

“And there go the pipes. Wanna do any more ‘alchemy’, Boy? How about doing the stove next.”

“Not. Helping. Katrina.”

“Enough. Both of you!”

Two steady hands were placed on Roy’s shoulders. Madame Christmas.  _ Aunt Petunia.  _

_ “I went to the castle, who did I meet?” _

Cretan. English. It took a moment for Roy’s hazing mind to realise that she was speaking in her, in  _ their,  _ mother tongue. 

_ “Padfoot and Prongs and Moony and Wormtail.”  _ Roy said slowly, slightly tripping over the words. It had been too long since he spoke.

His sisters’ squabbling had silenced. In their line of business, knowing exactly what their patrons were saying, regardless of language, was always a necessity. Riza probably had noticed as well, being part of the military required a basic fluency in the languages of all the surrounding nations. 

Madame Christmas continued with the little poem.  _ “I go to the hall, where do I sit?”  _

_ “Under the lion, red and gold.”  _ It was slightly embarrassing that she had resorted to this but Roy was calming down.

_ “I hide in the willow, what do I see?” _

_ “A dog, a stag, a wolf and a rat.” _

Roy took a final breath, clearing his thoughts. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This newfound ‘magic’ was doing nothing useful other than making his emotions go out of control. He was thirty and a battle-hardened soldier, not a three-year-old child that needed to be soothed with nonsense rhymes. 

Madame Christmas gave him a final firm pat. “Now, let’s talk. Hopefully with no more incidents.” She said. “Who was on the phone?” 

“Fullmetal.” 

“Your child soldier?”

Roy winced slightly at her accusation. His aunt, for all her military contacts, had made her distaste for the government clear. At least soon, the boy will go back to simply being Edward Elric, no military titles attached. 

“Isn’t he still in Central?” Riza said. “Neither he or Alphonse are in any state to travel.”  _ ‘And neither are you, sir.’  _ was also implied. 

Roy leaned further back into the chair, which was actually a soft couch of some kind given that he was met with little resistance. “Apparently, they’re in London.”

Then there was a pause. A slightly awkward silence. 

“London.” Simone finally said. “As in the same London where you and Madame Christmas are from?”

“But that’s like really far away!” Chloe exclaimed. “As in across the oceans far away and there’s not even any oceans near Amestris!”

“Not to mention Amestris is still at war with all neighbouring countries, the government would have declared war on the desert too if that were possible.” added Katrina.

Simone scoffed. “By declaring war on Xing of course or by pulling a small skirmish out of proportion. It’s not like they’ve never done  _ that  _ before.” 

“Pitting Amestris’s own citizens against each other when there’s no one else to fight.  _ Exactly  _ what a civilised nation would do.” Katrina said. 

Ah yes, joining the military earned Roy no favours with his family. But Roy agreed with them. That what he was in the military for anyway, to change the corrupted government from the inside. 

“But how was that even possible? Two boys in the heart of Central being whisked away to a country not even shown on most maps?” Paige asked, taking control of the conversation before it could devolve into gossip and cheap shots at the military. Though dramatic at times, she was also the most practical. 

“Could someone have kidnapped them?” Chloe suggested. 

“They’re dogs of the military.” Katrina pointed out. 

“But they’re still just boys!”

“Magic.” Madame Christmas firmly stated, bringing any discussion to a clear end. “It could have only been by magic.”

“Like the ‘wizard’ from yesterday?” Riza said. 

“They have many ways of moving people from place to place.” 

So there was the ‘how’ but… “Why the Elrics?” Roy said. “There’s absolutely nothing magical about them. Fullmetal in particular considers anything ‘magic’ utter blasphemy.”

Unless, it wasn’t about the brothers themselves but who was connected to them. Maybe, against all odds, one of those terrorists who killed his parents found their way into Amestris. But, for all their youth and recklessness (or more specifically Fullmetal’s), the Elrics weren’t stupid. They hadn’t survived that mad search for the Philosopher’s Stone on sheer dumb luck alone. Fullmetal sounded oddly at ease, not as if he had been held prisoner, so who else could have-

Dumbledore. 

It was merely speculation, a giant leap in logic, but what other magic practitioner could have sent the Elrics specifically to London of all places? 

No. If all his years in the military, and dealing with cases like Lieutenant Ross’s, had taught Roy anything, there was always a truth behind the truth. Right now, all they had was speculation. But…

“We need to go to London.” Roy declared. 

“Heh.” Roy didn’t need his eyes to know Madame Christmas was smiling. His emotions must have been so plain on his face. “How good of a detective are you?”

“My team has one of the highest success rates when it comes to cases.” Roy said, a smile inching onto his face to mirror the one he knew was on his aunt’s. 

As always, Madame Christmas was one step ahead of him and probably already had a plan to get him to London. 

“Well you might want to call them in.” Madame Christmas said. “Apparently, the Cretan military is offering quite the bundle for anyone who can deal with a little mystery of theirs.”

{~~~}

The old saying went ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ The British Ministry of Magic took that to the next extreme of ‘If it is broke, ignore it and carry on as always.’

Though Hermione had a plastic grin planted on her face, she was internally seething as she stormed out of the Ministry of Magic. In her arms were petitions, statistics and even a full blown thesis on everything  _ wrong  _ with the current isolationist stagenet state of the wizarding community.  The inequality between wizards and other sentient magical creatures, the prejudice against muggleborns and bias towards purebloods despite the fact the former was growing while the latter was dwindling, the complete and utter refusal of any shape or form of progress…

Hermione stopped in her tracks to take a moment to breathe. This was, sadly, no different from normal. Ever since graduating Hogwarts, she had lead the crusade against the injustices of the magical world. To her surprise, she had found a good number of people, mostly muggleborns and half-bloods and even a handful of purebloods, who were dissatisfied with the current system and more than willing to rally behind the cause. Yet, even after twelve years of non-stop protest, there had been no change whatsoever. 

“Yo, Granger.” 

“Hello Ronald.” Hermione said as the redhead walked up to join her.

Dressed in slightly ratty robes with an overall disheveled look that could only be the wizarding equivalent of the ‘government salaryman’, was Ronald Weasley. “I’ve told you before, Granger, just Ron’s fine. ‘Ronald’ feels as if I’m getting scolded by mum.” 

“Well you could always use another scolding.”

“Hey!”

She and Ronald had been yearmates back in Hogwarts, both in Gryffindor. However, after a particularly insensitive comment back in first year, they had never been particularly close in school. Now they were somewhat friendly acquaintances, encountering each other often in the Ministry. 

Ronald stretched back, placing his hands behind his head. “So how did that ‘monumental cornerstone in magical civil rights’ meeting go?”

Hermione glared at his and grumbled under her breath. 

“That bad, huh?” Ronald said with a slight whistle. 

“It’s just that - grah!” Hermione threw her hands into the air in frustration. “Why are all politicians so pig-headed?!” 

“Well you’ve got Fred and George on your side, right? Just let them go crazy. I’m sure even a bit of their mischief would change their minds.”

“Ronald, we are peaceful activists. All we need to do is to make them see reason and then we’ll start seeing some change.”

“And a good lot that’s done so far. You’re a pretty smart, Granger, you could be making millions writing books or making magical discoveries. Why waste your time on something as dead end as a ‘civil rights’ movement?”

“Because someone has to.” Hermione’s grip tightened over her papers. She had seen how some house elves were treated. How hard people who were entirely human, heck who weren’t entirely magical, had it in the wizarding community. “Just ignoring the problem won’t make it go away.”

A hand was placed on her shoulder. “Go home Granger. You lot had been protesting out here for at least a week straight. Yeah, you’re going to make some change but you need some rest too.”

Hermione looked down sheepishly at her clothes. She hadn’t been back at her apartment for nearly three days, who knows how many strays her roommate had picked up during that time. Everyone else had already left long before, when it became obvious that this meeting wouldn’t result in any change. 

She and Ronald took the lift together back up to Muggle London and parted ways from there. Her apartment complex wasn’t that far from the telephone-booth entrance of the Ministry of Magic. 

Unlocking the door, Hermione expected to be met with the yowling and barking of whatever animals that her roommate Jo had decided to pluck off the street. Instead, she found a boy sitting at the table blowing at a spoonful of soup. 

The boy noticed her immediately, meeting her gaze with a gentle smile. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Hermione parroted. 

Of all the things she had expected Jo to bring home, a child with his skin stretch too tightly over his bones was not one of them. How was the boy even able to remain upright? She was pretty sure she could count his ribs from underneath his loose shirt. 

“My name is Al.” The boy said slowly in thickly accented English. German maybe?

“Hermione Granger.” 

The boy, Al, furrowed his brow. “Her-mon-me?”

“Hermione.” she corrected with a slight smile.

“Her-moan-me. Her-my-me? Hermione. Hermione!” A triumphant grin spread across his face. 

“Nice to meet you, Al.” Hermione said, extending her hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” Al responded more slowly, shaking her hand.

Hermione couldn’t help but noticed how bony the boy’s hand felt, as if he hadn’t eaten in years. 

“Al!”

And Hermione was tackled onto the ground. Instinctively, she reached for her wand only for it to be slapped out of her grasp and across the room by her attacker. 

“Brother! No!” Al yelled but he hadn’t moved from his seat. He probably couldn’t. 

Hermione wrestled with her attacker, another boy who was comparatively fitter and more aggressive than Al. They tumbled across the floor, the mad flurry of punches and kicks didn’t give her much of an opportunity to do anything other than attempt to dodge.

“Hey...what?! Ed!”

Then the boy was grabbed from behind, still kicking and screaming like a little demon but Jo had a firm grip on him, keeping his arms locked. 

“No! Intruder!” The boy cried from Jo’s grasp. 

“Not intruder. Hermione!” Al said, turning so that he was facing the other boy, his arms leaning on the back of the chair. 

The two had a rapid exchange in a foreign language. German, if she had to guess, or some sort of Germanic dialect. 

Hermione took the time nurse her forearms where the boy had gotten a few good hits in. It would bruise but it was nothing too a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. Though, her shins felt more sore from his kicks.

Soon, the boy had calmed down enough that Jo no longer had to hold him back and he was being quietly scolded by Al. 

“Some welcome home, huh?” Jo said, helping Hermione to her feet. As always, her roommate didn’t bother with too much clothing. Just a loose singlet and a pair of shorts, her hair tied back in a ponytail. 

“Who are they?” Hermione asked. There had to be an interesting story behind these two. 

“Ed and Al Elric. Brothers, if you hadn’t gathered yet.” Jo explained. “Found them wandering the streets just before nightfall a couple days ago, Ed piggybacking Al, and before you asked yes I filed a report to the police. Not that we could fill much out. Ed can just barely speak English, Al even less, and most of what they know is related to military commands for some reason. And swearing. Boy, does Ed have a potty mouth. I think that-”

“Couldn’t they have gotten a translator?” Hermione interjected before Jo got too off topic. 

Jo shrugged. “The police tried but whatever they’re speaking isn’t normal German. For some reason, they know bits and pieces of Russian, Italian and Mandarin. Not enough to hold a decent conversation in, though.”

Hermione paused for a moment. So the boys were speaking a dialect but that would mean they were from an isolated country town of some sort. How would they have ended up in the middle of London? “Have you gotten in contact with their parents?”

“According to Ed, they’re both dead.” Jo said, crossing her arms. “They called a guardian of some kind when the police handed them a satellite phone. Ed tried a heck lot of numbers before someone picked up then there was a lot of yelling. Apparently, the phone lost its signal halfway through so no one else was able to talk to the guy. When the police tried tracing the number, they got zilch.” She let out a heavy sigh. “These kids are a mystery, you know. No I.D. or money on them and they had no idea where they were when I found them. I mean, it was like they were teleported here or something. And Al, the kid’s too skinny to even be alive. Only reason he’s not in hospital is because Ed broke him out and dragged him back here when they tried to separate them.”

“Er...Jo, Her-mo-me.”

Both turned to see a sheepish Ed, head bowed slightly and bangs covering his eyes. “I sincerely regret my...uh - actions of violence, umm, against your person.”

Hermione was taken aback by how formal his words were.

“Yeah, he’s kind of been avoiding sentences because of his vocab.” Jo said. “Formal as hell and damn awkward most the time.”

Hermione lightly punched her in the arm. “Don’t patronise him.” She said, then to the boy, “I accept your apology. An easier way of saying it though, would be ‘I’m sorry’.”

Ed’s looked up, golden eyes gleaming. “I’m sorry.” He said brightly but sincerely. 

“It’s okay, I forgive you. Why don’t we be friends?”

“Fr-ends?” Ed said, rolling the word in his mouth.

“Like ‘allies’, ‘comrades’.” Hermione added, trying to find a similar word he understood. 

“Affirmative! Yes!” Ed answered immediately.  

Al grinned from his delicate perch from the chair. “Good brother.” he said, holding back a laugh.

Ed swiftly turned to his brother and they had another teasing conversation in their language. 

“Well then, now that Ed ain’t out for your blood anymore I can leave you to babysit these two while I go out to grab some stuff.” Jo was already halfway out the door, grabbing her coat and keys along the way. “More paperwork from the police, some medical stuff so Al can stay here and just groceries in general. Thanks ‘Mione, bye!”

And Jo was out of the apartment and gone before Hermione had a chance to protest. Then again, what was she expecting. This was Jo being Jo after all.

The brothers were still heavily engrossed in their conversation, Ed wildly waving his arms around while Al was laughing. There was no mistaking they were brothers, they looked so similar that they could almost pass as twins if Al wasn’t so undernourished. The same gold-yellow eyes and long blond hair tied back in a braid...come to think of it, the brothers reminded her something from her extra readings at Hogwarts. Back when Hermione had gone through a brief alchemy obsession in fifth year, she had found the legend of Xerxes. A desert nation advanced in all branches of magic that mysteriously disappeared overnight, the people known for their golden hair and eyes. 

“Stick.” Al said suddenly in English, pointing at the couch.

“Stick?” Ed replied slightly confused then, after a moment of realisation, scurried over to the couch to retrieve...her wand.

Bollocks.

Hermione had forgotten that had been thrown there. She cursed her carelessness. How was she going to explain this?

Both the brothers’ eyes widened as Ed held up her wand cautiously from the other end. Then, to her surprise, the boy pulled from his jacket pocket a wand of his own. 

Ed and Al were wizards.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah…exposition? Though I have some idea what I want to do with this story, I have no solid plans. Most the things I’ve thought of are after all these crazy misconceptions at the beginning. So apologies, there won’t be a solid update schedule for this story but thanks for sticking around anyway!


End file.
